


Open Mic Night

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [65]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Country & Western, Folk Music, Friendship, M/M, Musicians, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for Paint Colours prompt: <i>Stargate Multiverse, Rodney +/ John Sheppard, Folk Song</i></p><p>In which Rodney gets goaded into going to a Country bar to hear some new talent, and runs into the last person he expected to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Mic Night

Rodney didn’t care for Country music. He’d listened to – and played – his fair share of it during his journey of musical self-discovery, but he’d never felt a connection to it. Maybe because it was a genre of music that was dominated by guitar, which wasn’t Rodney’s instrument. Maybe it was the boots and hats, and the over-abundance of denim. 

Whatever the reason, Rodney wasn’t a fan. So he had no idea why he’d let Teyla talk him into going to Red’s, except that he had nothing better to do on a Friday night. Which was pretty damn sad.

He didn’t feel any better when they arrived and there was a large line dance underway on the sawdust-littered wood floor.

“You didn’t drag me down here to watch you dance, did you?” Not that Rodney minded, because Teyla was a beautiful dancer, but boot-scootin’ didn’t really seem like a good fit for her.

“No, Rodney.” Teyla found them a small table off to the side, near the bar. “It is open mic night, and I thought you would like to hear the local talent. Some of them are quite good.”

That was just like Teyla, always trying to expose him to music and people outside of his comfort zone. He couldn’t fault her for it because he knew she meant well. Rodney wasn’t an easy person to get along with, he was well aware of that, but somehow Teyla had seen beneath all the bluster and decided he was worth being friends with. He’d always be grateful for that, even if he never said so.

“Here comes the sasquatch.” 

It wasn’t Rodney’s first time at Red’s; Teyla had brought him there a time or two in the past, to ‘shake things up’ in his life a little. She had a giant of a friend that worked behind the bar, and did the rodeo circuit from May to September. He was an unlikely-looking cowboy, head dripping with dreadlocks and geometric tattoos on his arms, but Rodney bet he looked magnificent on the back of a bull.

“McKay,” Ronon said. He hauled Rodney out of his chair and gave him a very manly hug and slap on the back. He nearly pulled Rodney off his feet. “You picked a good night to come out.”

“I was coerced,” Rodney replied. He reclaimed his seat while Teyla and Ronon exchanged their usual greeting, which was an almost ritualistic touching of foreheads. It was as intimate as a kiss, and Rodney couldn’t help speculating about the extent of their relationship, past and present. It wasn’t something he dared ask about; Teyla was a very private person.

“You want anything from the kitchen?” Ronon asked. “We’ve got some pretty good pulled pork on special.”

If Rodney was going to be expected to sit through hours of twangy guitar music, he was definitely doing it on a full stomach. He ordered the special, and Teyla got her usual house salad. A waitress wearing the uniform of tight jeans and a red gingham shirt brought them drinks they hadn’t needed to ask for; Ronon never forgot anything.

When the dancing ended there was a lot of clapping, and a different waitresses hopped up on the little stage at the far end of the room, tapping at the microphone to make sure it was on.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she asked. The crowd cheered loudly in response. “As you know, we play both kinds of music here at Red’s.”

“Country _and_ Western!” the crowd shouted in response.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rodney grumbled.

“And tonight we’re happy to open up our stage for anyone who’d like to perform for us. Let’s give all these brave souls the hearty Red’s welcome they deserve! Woo!”

The perky waitress hopped off the stage and the acts started coming, one after another. There was a wide range of talent on display, from the horrendously awful to the not-so-bad. Most of the music was either really old school stuff, like covers of Patsy Cline and Hank Williams, or really current stuff, like Florida Georgia Line and Kenny Chesney. A quartet of college students did a frankly amazing cover of the Eagles _Peaceful Easy Feeling_.

Most of the acts did covers, though a handful had original pieces, and one young woman in particular had a lot of potential as a song-writer. Much more than an actual singer.

“She’s one to keep an eye on,” Rodney told Teyla. “She doesn’t have the chops for vocals, but the composition is excellent.”

“I agree. I have heard many of her original songs, and they are all quite good.”

Rodney didn’t make a living playing the piano, hadn’t really ever wanted to. Just having a venue where he could sit down once or twice a week and pound out the blues was good enough. But somehow he’d made a lot of contacts within the music world, and there were people he could put in touch with the burgeoning song-writer. He didn’t bother asking her name. Teyla would know, and could make arrangements for a meet-and-greet.

Two pulled-pork sandwiches and several stiff drinks later, Rodney was ready to leave. He’d had all the Country (and Western!) he could handle. He’d have to put on something classical to clean his musical palate once he got home.

“There is one more act you should listen to,” Teyla said. She was Rodney’s ride, so he was stuck unless he wanted to call a cab. 

“Fine. Next drink’s on you.” Instead of flagging down a waitress, Rodney stretched his legs and walked over to the bar.

Red’s was heavy on the whisky and draft beers, though they did keep a decent enough Chardonnay on hand, probably just for Teyla. Rodney was contemplating his choices while the next performer warmed up, tuning their guitar. He didn’t bother looking around. Teyla had wanted him to hear local talent, which meant he only had to listen. Sometimes the appearance of the artist could detract from the actual art itself.

The tune, once it started in earnest, was familiar and unexpected. A folk song? Rodney closed his eyes and tipped his head. Yup. Simon and Garfunkel, played with a slide. That was new.

_Through the corridors of sleep_  
_Past the shadows dark and deep_  
_My mind dances and leaps in confusion._  
_I don't know what is real,_  
_I can't touch what I feel_  
_And I hide behind the shield of my illusion._

The finger work was impressive, the voice very much not. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but the tone was a little flat. The song choice was interesting, not the one most people usually went for, and the guy had slowed the pace of the melody, made it more melancholy, and even a little haunting. It had a definite Country sound as well, with the slide moving across the strings. Rodney couldn’t fault the arrangement; it was pretty slick.

_The mirror on my wall_  
_Casts an image dark and small_  
_But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection._  
_I am blinded by the light_  
_Of God and truth and right_  
_And I wander in the night without direction._

There was a wealth of emotion behind the words, Rodney could practically feel it reverberating on his skin. The lyrics had a personal meaning for the man singing them. It was always easy to tell when that was the case: that was the difference between someone performing with everything they had, and someone just singing karaoke.

_So I'll continue to continue to pretend_  
_My life will never end,_  
_And flowers never bend_  
_With the rainfall._

The song ended, the applause started, and Rodney opened his eyes to get a look at the performer. And almost swallowed his tongue. John Sheppard, the man Rodney’d had a night of extremely hot and satisfying sex with over two weeks ago, and then never heard from again.

He was a musician? That had never come up, although admittedly they hadn’t done a lot of talking.

Rodney turned back to the bar and asked for a shot of whisky, which he immediately tossed back. He couldn’t believe Teyla had plotted to get him here on the same night John was playing. How did she even know? It’s not like Rodney had gone bragging about his sexy conquest. Much.

It was clearly time to go. Rodney didn’t want some awkward encounter with John. They hadn’t connected after that one night, which was as much Rodney’s fault as it was John’s. They were from two different worlds, if their choices of musical expression were anything to go by. Better just to have that one good night to remember.

“Rodney?”

He’d dithered too long. Rodney turned around, a little relieved to see that John looked just as uncomfortable: he was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and he wasn’t quite meeting Rodney’s eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you played,” Rodney said.

“I haven’t. Not for a long time. I’m kind of getting back into it.”

“That’s you rusty?” Rodney was impressed. “You should play more, you’re really good.”

It was hard to tell with the dim lighting, but it looked like John was blushing. Quite a change from their last interaction.

“I’m not as good as you.”

“Apples and oranges. I can’t play the guitar.”

There was a long moment of silence between them, filled only with the sound of the next performer doing terrible things to a classic Dolly Parton tune. Rodney was remembering how John had looked in his bed, naked and flushed and wanton. It wouldn’t take much more alcohol for Rodney to throw John down on the bar and have his wicked way with him. The man oozed sex appeal, even moreso when he was uncertain and shy.

“I wanted to call you,” John said finally. “But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into that.”

Oh, if he only knew.

“I figured you were getting settled in.” Which was mostly a lie, but Rodney wasn’t about to admit that. No need to point out that guys like John were one-night-stand material, not long-term relationship material because Rodney was never that lucky. Not that he was looking for anything long-term. He wasn’t. He could definitely do something more occasional, though.

“As settled as I’m gonna be, I guess.” John finally looked at Rodney, and the question was there in his eyes. 

“I’m free until tomorrow afternoon,” Rodney offered. It was probably a mistake, going back for seconds, but then he’d never been one to deny his own appetites. 

John grinned. “My place this time?”

“Why not?”

“Give me five minutes.” John looked pointedly at Rodney’s mouth, and then turned and headed off, presumably to grab his guitar from backstage. It was no hardship watching his ass in those tight black jeans. Denim did have its charms, from time to time.

“I assume you will not need a ride home,” Teyla said, appearing at Rodney’s elbow. She looked amused.

“No, I will not. And I’m going to get you for this, meddler. Don’t think I won’t. Payback’s a –”

Teyla put her finger to his lips and glared at him. He mumbled an apology.

“You want one for the road, McKay?” Ronon asked from behind the bar.

Rodney thought about it for a minute, but he declined. “I want to keep a clear head,” he said.

John reappeared, guitar case in his hand. “You ready?”

Boy, was he ever. “Oh, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** John’s version of the song _Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall_ was partially inspired by [this cover by Hee Young](https://youtu.be/6BZZB6T0-mM).
> 
> Bonus points if you can pick put the _Blues Brothers_ quote! ::grins::


End file.
